Lunchtime at the Drunk Dragon
by The Offbeat Alchemist
Summary: Somewhere between chapter 11 and chapter 12 of A Witch out of Place, Vanora enjoys an afternoon in the local pub. A oneshot written purely for the fun of it.


_Disclaimer: I don't own_** The Enchanted Forest Chronicles**_,_ **The Legend of Kyrandia**_, or any of the characters, names, and locations mentioned within. Except for Vanora, who is 100-percent mine._

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**Lunchtime at the Drunk Dragon**

The aging shopkeeper smiled as he handed Vanora a small package wrapped in brown paper and tied together with string.

"Will that be all for you today, Miss?"

The young witch took one last look at the shopping list she was holding before nodding in relief. "It sure is. Thank goodness."

She slipped the package into her bag, said goodbye to the shopkeeper and left the store, causing the small bell hanging above the door to jingle merrily.

Outside, the bright noonday sun made her stop and shade her eyes with her free hand. With her other hand she hoisted the heavy shopping bag she was carrying and slung it over her shoulder like a purse. The extra weight forced her to lean a little in the opposite direction.

"I hope Zanthia gives me a smaller list next time," she muttered.

She adjusted the bag with a grunt before gazing across the street, eyes squinting as the sun reflected off the white sand that made up the road.

The sun was hot, and her stomach was empty after all that shopping. Sitting down in the Drunk Dragon tavern for a cool drink and a quick bite seemed like a good way to relax before riding the ferry back to Darkmoor Swamp.

Bars and taverns had never appealed to her before, but the residents of Morning Mist Valley weren't exactly rowdy, so Vanora soon became a regular in the small pub. And it was always cool and dim inside.

It was always fragrant inside, too, filled with scents of grilled meat, fresh ale and fried fish, and today was no exception. Vanora's nose twitched as she stepped inside. Away from the bright sun, her eyes began to relax, and she set her shopping bag down with a relieved sigh.

The tavern was usually empty when she stopped by, or close to it. She scanned the room for other patrons and soon spied an unfamiliar figure sitting near the window. An odd-looking figure, she realized. But Vanora had figured out soon after arriving in Kyrandia that strange beings were a common sight. And she liked having company while she ate, so she didn't hesitate to approach the spindly fellow's table.

"Mind if I join you?"

The scrawny being lifted his hand, encased in a slightly tattered white glove, and tilted back his floppy blue hat as he lifted his head to look at her. Vanora's friendly smile faded a little as she found herself staring into a pair of black button eyes—literally.

The buttons were crookedly sewn to a rough tan cloth, which was loosely stuffed and tied at the base with string. Yellow straw stuck out from under the blue shirt the being was wearing, and more peeked out from the cuffs of his shirt and pants.

The tan face had no nose, but the loose row of stitches where a mouth would be curled up at the edges, turning into what looked like a smile.

"No, I don't mind. Have a seat."

Vanora had never dined with a scarecrow before, but she couldn't think of a reason not to, so she sat. Her eye fell on the silver mug sitting on the table, and her nose twitched again as her nostrils were filled with a strong, sweet smell. "Are you really drinking that?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

Instead of getting annoyed by her forwardness, the scarecrow let out a sigh. "No," he admitted, sounding disappointed. "I tried to, but it just makes my insides soggy. You can have it, if you like."

"Really? You don't mind?"

He shook his head, and she lifted the heavy mug and took another sniff. The sweet, bubbly liquid didn't seem alcoholic, but she still hesitated to take a sip; Zanthia would have a fit if she went home tipsy.

She was still debating whether or not to try it when a barmaid strolled up to the table. "Oh, it's you again," she commented, and not in an unfriendly way. "Should I get you the usual soup and salad?"

Vanora nodded. "Please."

The barmaid nodded in return and walked briskly away.

"By the way, I'm Vanora," the young witch said after she was gone.

The scarecrow sighed again and leaned his head against his straw-filled hand. "I don't have a name," he said gloomily. "I suppose I did, once, but..."

"Spent too much time sitting out in the fields and wound up forgetting?" Vanora guessed.

The tan face scrunched up in what Vanora assumed was meant to be a grimace. "Good grief, _no_. Talk about boring."

"Oh, are you more of a proactive scarer?" He was clearly mobile, after all, and actively chasing birds and other varmints away seemed much more affective than hanging on a pole.

The scarecrow scratched his head through his worn hat. "Sort of. Can you keep a secret?"

"Unless keeping it will endanger others, I will carry all confidences to the grave."

Now the scarecrow looked amused. "Funny you should say that. You see..."

He glanced around to make sure no one was listening before leaning closer. "I'm actually a ghost."

Vanora looked at him skeptically for a moment. He didn't appear to be pulling her leg (though it was hard to read a cloth face), and a scarecrow running around because it was possessed by a ghost made more sense than a scarecrow running around for no reason at all.

"Why a scarecrow, though?" she wondered.

"It's kind of pathetic, huh? But, it was all that was available at the time."

The stitched mouth turned down into a frown as he looked at his own gloved hands. "It's an ironic title, really," he said. He raised his arms and waggled his fingers like he was trying to frighten her away. "As you can imagine, I haven't been able to scare anyone since I got this body."

"Do you _want_ to scare people?"

"Of course. I'm a ghost, remember?"

"Right..."

The barmaid returned, set a steaming bowl of soup and a bright green salad on the table and hurried away again.

"She's in an awful rush today, considering how empty the place is," Vanora commented. She leaned over and lightly blew on her soup.

"It won't be empty for much longer," the ghostly scarecrow informed her with a crooked smile.

"How come?"

"It's Pirate Poetry Night."

Vanora glanced at the bright sunlight visible through the smoked glass of the window. "Nightfall is hours away," she pointed out.

The button eyes twitched like they were trying to roll in exasperation. "I know. It should be called Pirate Poetry Day, since it starts when the tavern first opens and doesn't end until it closes. But, that's pirate logic for you."

Vanora frowned. "You don't mean there are pirates on the way, do you?"

"But of course."

Of all the different types of people Kyrandia had to offer, pirates were the most rowdy, dangerous, and foul-mouthed. Vanora had already seen one or two during previous visits to the Drunk Dragon, but they didn't pay any attention to her as long as she kept her distance. She noticed that most Kyrandians were like that.

She was pretty sure if she kept quiet and didn't make eye contact, any pirate who strolled in would leave her alone, but she still preferred to be on her way home already before any showed up. After blowing on her soup again, she started eating quicker than she usually did, but not so quickly that she was in danger of choking herself.

She noticed that the scarecrow was watching her closely, as if the sight of food being consumed was fascinating to him, and it was beginning to make her feel a little self-conscious.

"You haven't tried the drink yet," he reminded her.

Her mouth full, Vanora nodded mutely and lifted the heavy mug. She didn't really want it, but in a roundabout way he had bought it for her, so she reluctantly took a sip.

It was the sweetest beverage she had ever tasted, and the strange bubbles made her nose tingle. She took another sip and rubbed her nose with a giggle.

"It's weird, but it doesn't taste bad," she commented.

The ghostly scarecrow didn't reply as his button eyes peered over her head. Vanora set the mug down and looked over her shoulder; the pirates had arrived.

They all looked like they had just stepped off the boat after several long months at sea, and they smelled like it, too. Vanora discreetly wrinkled her nose as the small group swaggered past her table.

"Out of curiosity, exactly what is pirate poetry like?" she asked in a low voice.

The scarecrow shrugged his hay-filled shoulders. "It depends on who's reciting it. Some of these guys are actually pretty deep."

Vanora looked at the grubby bandanas, missing teeth and deadly weapons they carried and didn't quite believe him. As she watched, one of them paused to feed a cracker to the red parrot perched near the bar. The colorful bird squawked and munched on it happily.

"See? They aren't all bad."

"I guess..."

Vanora finished her soup and started on her salad. The lettuce leaves were fresh and crispy, and they crunched loudly as she chewed. One of the pirates, who was heading for a podium on the other side of the room, shot her a dirty look.

She quickly set her fork down. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

The burly pirate took a moment to straighten his red bandana before stepping up to the podium. He pulled a sheet of paper from his vest pocket, cleared his throat and began to read.

"A frog makes the best buddy,  
even though they can get a bit muddy.  
When you touch one, be careful,  
or your hands will get grubby.

My best buddy ever was a frog,  
I found him one day on an old log.  
He was so much better than a doggy,  
because he didn't smell bad when he got soggy.

My clever little friend could catch flies with his tongue,  
and even when he grew old, he still acted young.  
We would play fetch and we would race,  
and since he was such a good friend, he never laughed when I tripped and fell on my face.

But all things must come to an end,  
and on that sad, sad day, I said goodbye to my friend.  
I couldn't find a box, so I wrapped him in an old sock,  
and let my little grubby buddy sink to the bottom of his favorite lake."

The pirate folded up the paper with a sniff.

Vanora was glad she wasn't eating at the moment as she began snorting with suppressed laughter. The scarecrow shot her a look, but it was hard to tell what kind of look he was trying to give her.

"Don't laugh, he's trying to be serious."

Despite being reprimanded, Vanora kept snickering. And something about the scarecrow's voice didn't help; no matter what he was saying, there was always a hint of cheerfulness in his tone. She took another sip of the fizzing liquid before grinning at him.

"You should go up there," she suggested. "You have a great voice."

"Me?"

The sewn-on features looked shocked. "I couldn't. I'd die of stage fright."

"I thought you were already dead."

"Oh, you know what I mean..."

The poetic pirate took a bow and left the podium amidst cheers and applause from the others. Vanora took advantage of the noise and hastily crunched down the rest of her salad. She took one last gulp from the mug and stood.

"I better be off. It was nice meeting you."

She flashed a smile at her unusual lunch companion and turned to go. Instead of returning her goodbye, the scarecrow reached across the table and grabbed her arm.

"You can't leave," he informed her with a frown.

Vanora cocked an eyebrow at the hay-filled hand clutching her arm; it was surprisingly firm. "Why not?"

"You have to recite a poem, first. That's the rules."

"You're not reciting a poem," she pointed out. "You plan to stay here until closing time, like a hostage?"

"Hey, it's better than going up there and making a fool of myself," he said with a shudder.

"A shy ghost," Vanora said dryly. "Now I've heard of everything."

The scarecrow released with her a grumble, and Vanora was positive that if he hadn't been made out of cloth and hay, he would have blushed. "You do it then, if you're so brave," he muttered.

"No sweat."

Vanora smoothed her skirt, straightened her strawberry-blond curls and marched over to the podium. The pirates, who had been arguing over who was to go next, grew quiet and watched the pretty newcomer with interest.

She felt the tiniest flutter of nerves, but she casually cleared her throat and began.

"To be power-hungry is to be a wizard.  
To be generous is to be a witch.

Exact opposites that forever clash,  
one wise, the other brash.

Alone or in groups, one can never be trusted,  
together or on her own, the other is always true.

But never forget, there are exceptions to every rule,  
and to live life without bearing this in mind is to be a fool."

She finished with a slight curtsy and left the podium. Though she doubted they fully understood what she just said, the pirates clapped and whistled as she passed, and she waved with a smile as she hurried for the door. As she bent to pick up her shopping bag again, the scarecrow appeared at her side.

"How did you do that so easily?" he asked, sounding impressed.

"Natural talent," said Vanora lightly.

In reality, she had recited an old poem she read in one of her mother's books. She was pretty sure she was supposed to recite original material, but since the poem came from outside of Kyrandia and wouldn't be recognized, she figured that was close enough.

She patted the envious scarecrow on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Have fun in here," she called sweetly as she escaped out the door. Behind her, another pirate was stepping up to the podium.

"There once was a pirate from Volcania..."


End file.
